


The Breath Between

by ocean_of_notions



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: AU, Episode: s03e20 Crossroads (2), F/M, Pilots, season 4, special destinies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-27
Updated: 2010-06-27
Packaged: 2017-11-20 11:04:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ocean_of_notions/pseuds/ocean_of_notions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kara's return in "Crossroads" is not what it appears to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for pilotsbigbang. Many thanks to my cheerleader, stripes13, and my beta, bellaaurora . This fic would have been much worse without their help. Also, I rejected any canon I didn't like. Deal with it.

_You’re free now._  
  
“I’m not afraid anymore,” Kara says.  
  
“I’ll see you on the other side,” she says.  
  
 _To become who you really are._  
  
Fear gets you killed; anger keeps you alive. Two sides of the same coin, Momma. The players change but the story remains the same.  
  
 _To discover what hovers in the space between life and death._  
  
Kara closes her eyes. Her breath leaves her body. And she flies.  
  
It’s a long time before she lands.  
  
~~~  
  
Lee has never been struck by lightning, but he has had the comparable experience of meeting Kara Thrace. Lee didn’t understand what was happening in that moment when she opened the door and he watched her smile change to look on him. But later, in one of his more maudlin moments, he realized that she had come into his life like a lightning strike. With a smile and a handshake, she had irrevocably carved his life in two, and since that moment there was only _before_ and _after_.  
  
She leaves his life in the same way—sudden, bright and burning—but still that dotted line, that _before_ and _after_ doesn’t waver. Two months later, and maybe he knows why.  
  
~~~  
  
 _Don’t lose me this time, Apollo.  
  
Not a chance._  
  
When he lands on the hangar deck and climbs out of his cockpit, Lee doesn’t see her impossibly new, impossibly _there_ Viper. He does see her. She’s standing in the middle of the bay, a single point of stillness, of peace, in the chaos of combat landings. While he watches, she runs a hand through her sweat-dampened hair, slicking it back. It’s an action he’s seen her do countless times, but today it is different. Today it is new.  
  
Because she is.  
  
There’s a moment when she turns and just before her gaze meets his—then the moment is caught, stretched taut by the pull of her eyes. He’s not thinking clearly, Lee knows this, and he might just be dreaming because then she’s in his arms and he doesn’t remember how they got from Point A to Point B. It doesn’t really matter though because wayward strands of her hair are tickling his cheek; she is warm in his arms and her words in his ear are more than he’d dare to dream of.  
  
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she says, and it is. “Me too.”  
  
When the marines come, Lee steps in front of her to face them. They’re led by Colonel Tigh, not his father, and Lee can’t think what that means. As they march down to the brig, Lee’s barely aware of the soldiers and their guns around him; their heavy steps are drowned out, it seems, by the soft sounds of her breathing.  
  
When they reach their destination, the marines put them—Lee and Kara, Apollo and Starbuck, or whoever the hell they are—in the same cell.  
  
“You’ll stay here until we’ve got time to deal with this,” Colonel Tigh says, gruff and dismissive.  
  
Lee registers dimly that he doesn’t know the outcome of the battle.  
  
He is not sure how long they are left to wait. His brain doesn’t seem to be working right, as time keeps moving in skips and jumps. He sits on the single cot in their cell and just watches her.  
  
She paces.  
  
“How can they just…?” she mutters as she impatiently sweeps back her too-long hair. “I mean, Earth, godsdamnit! _Earth_ , and they just….”  
  
She’s stopped pacing and Lee belatedly realizes that she’s staring right at him with that familiar half-angry, all-intense “are you even listening?” look.  
  
Then something changes and she is on the cot beside him. He feels her leg brush against his through the rubber of their flightsuits.  
  
“Hey Lee,” she’s saying, “I just wanted to say thanks. You know, for flying my wing.”  
  
Time skips again and he’s on the other side of the cell, on his hands and knees sucking down oxygen like it’s the sweetest ambrosia. Then her hand is on his back and he can’t hear what she’s saying because _her hand is on his back_.  
  
His father choosees this moment to interrupt.  
  
“Admiral on deck!” shouts the lonely marine on duty.  
  
Lee stands half-heartedly, shifting anxiously on his feet as he remembers that none of his previous roles apply at this moment, except maybe son, which is the worst of all. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Kara standing rigidly to attention. But the “at ease” she’s waiting for doesn’t come.  
  
Instead, the old man just stares at Lee, and Lee stares back, feeling no particular drive to break the silence.  
  
Finally, the Admiral speaks. “You seized a military vessel and endangered both it and yourself by rushing into a battle in which you did not belong. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”  
  
Lee thinks for a moment. “No,” he says, biting back the automatic _sir_.  
  
Judging by the expression on his father’s face, this is not the correct answer. But when the old man speaks again, his voice swells with weariness.  
  
“We’ve got Cylons inviting themselves aboard wanting to _talk_ , and I do _not_ have time for your misguided rebellion. It’s time to pick a side, Lee,” the old man says. “To figure out who you’re going to be. A civilian or a soldier.”  
  
But Lee is shaking his head, swallowing down his own weariness and his own frustration. “With all due respect, Dad, we both know why I quit. So really, it’s up to you. Do _you_ have anything to say for yourself?”  
  
The old man is silent, and just like that he’s gone. As though on autopilot, Lee settles back onto the cot, leaning against the bulkhead. It takes him a moment too long to realize that Kara is still standing, facing him now with her hands on her hips.  
  
“Lee,” she says, as though speaking to a not-terribly bright student, “what the hell was he talking about?”  
  
He blinks, takes a moment to gather his thoughts and wish his brain were functioning a little better. “Oh, well. After, uh…well I wasn’t…the Admiral assigned me to security detail for Baltar’s lawyer, and so I started getting involved with the trial, and…. He said some things, and I said some things, and I resigned.” Lee shrugs.  
  
She’s still staring. “Lee,” she says again, “what the hell are you talking about?”  
  
He really doesn’t think her indignation is warranted. After all, he’s not the one who came back from the dead after two months, claiming to have seen Earth. Compared to hers, his explanation is practically a dissertation.  
  
“I resigned from the military. Helped out with Baltar’s trial. Not guilty, by the way.”  
  
“Come on, Apollo. Even you can’t do all that in six hours. What the hell is going on here?”  
  
Six hours? _What the hell_ is right, Lee thinks. “Kara, you…you’ve been gone for two months.”  
  
“What? No frakking way, Lee! I know I passed out but my ship clock read six hours.”  
  
He shakes his head back and forth, wishing he could stop the words he knows he has to say. “Kara, you _died_. You flew into that storm and you – and I saw it, I saw….” He stops because he must, and because the rest doesn’t really matter now, does it? Not when she’s standing here in front of him, with her flightsuit tied around her waist and her hair just brushing her shoulders.  
  
She seems to deflate though, before his very eyes. Like she’s drifting in zero gravity and doesn’t know up from down. They don’t say much after that.  
  
Eventually, she drifts into an uneasy slumber, stretched out on her side on the cot. Lee sits on the floor by the foot of the bunk. He rests his head back against the bulkhead and keeps his eyes open as long as he can. Maybe he’s afraid that she’ll vanish in the space of a blink, or maybe he just can’t get his fill of her after two months of knowing he’d never have this, never watch her fall asleep and certainly never watch her wake.  
  
The next morning, they still don’t talk much but Kara tells him in halting, stilted words how she flew into the storm driven by some need that she can’t articulate, how she opened her eyes and there was a planet before her and she knew that it was home. And then she was there, in the nebula, flying his wing. Lee hears the rest in her silence, in the soft hitches in her breath; hears how she can’t explain this missing time, and hears how that emptiness could tear her apart.  
  
He doesn’t have time to reassure her (and maybe that’s a blessing, since he doubts that he could) before he’s being summoned to the Admiral’s quarters.  
  
Their marine guard escorts him out of the cell, but only him—evidently Kara’s not invited to this Adama family gathering. As he’s led away, Lee can’t help turning back, fixing her in his sights once more. She stands in the middle of the cell, her face inscrutable as she watches him.  
  
~~~  
  
The meeting with his father does not go well. They stand on opposite sides of the desk, and if that doesn’t symbolize their entire relationship then Lee will hang up his wings. Oh wait, he’s already done that.  
  
“Lee, I know…things haven’t been easy lately. And maybe some days it feels like you’re just getting up in the morning because you don’t know what else to do. And I know that you and I haven’t always seen eye to eye. But I’m proud of you, son. That was a brave thing you did, and maybe…maybe I was too harsh before.”  
  
Lee’s not so far gone that he can’t recognize the significance of this confession, can’t appreciate the difficulty of his father’s apology. But still, none of this feels quite right, quite real; it’s as though half of his reality is behind bars and this office feels dull and dim in comparison.  
  
The old man sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose with one hand as he speaks. “After what happened at the nebula…things are going to change, one way or another.” He looks up. “We’re going to need the fleet’s best.”  
  
The quiet, unspoken compliment hovers in the air between them, and Lee’s chest expands as he breathes it in. Yet, when the old man offers his post back, Lee says that he’ll think about it. It’s the best that he can do right now. Because this, this is _ridiculous_ and when Adama offers Lee a drink, he can’t keep it in anymore.  
  
“What the hell are we doing here, Dad? I mean, she’s, she said she’s been to _Earth_ and you’re not even, not even going to _ask_?”  
  
Adama stares at him, much the same way Kara did the night before when he told her about resigning his commission.  
  
“Lee,” he says slowly, “who are you talking about? Who’s been to Earth?”  
  
Has this whole Fleet gone mad? “Who? Who, I—weren’t you listening on the comms?”  
  
“Listening to what?”  
  
“To Kara, Dad!”  
  
His father pales, steps back as though shoved. With a slightly sick feeling, Lee registers the look of pure, unadulterated shock on his father’s face.  
  
“Lee, are you alright?”  
  
 _No_ , he thinks. But he can’t say it. He has to get back to the brig. “Am I free to go, sir?”  
  
His father nods, and looks like he wants to say more but Lee turns away. He returns to the brig unescorted. The marine on duty looks surprised to see him, but Lee makes some excuse about forgetting something in the cell. As the marine goes to unlock it, Lee’s eyes find Kara. She’s stretched out on her back on the cot, and her eyes are closed but he knows she’s not sleeping. He almost wishes she were doing push-ups just so he could make some crack about this looking familiar.  
  
Soon he’s through the bars though, and she’s sitting up, about to say something when he wraps his fingers around her wrist. “Come on,” he says softly, hoping that lone guard isn’t paying too much attention. But Lee’s got a theory to prove.  
  
Something in his eyes must convince her, because Kara doesn’t say a word as he leads her out of the cell. She looks back at the guard but he doesn’t look at them, and that sick feeling in Lee’s gut returns. Once they’re a few halls away from the brig, Kara pulls her arm out of his grasp and makes her impatience known.  
  
“Lee, what did he say? Does he believe me?”  
  
He just shakes his head and keeps moving forward. “Later,” he whispers.  
  
She snorts. “Later? Where the frak are we going now, Lee?”  
  
He pauses then, and looks at her. A few crewmembers pass, but pay no attention. Of course they don’t. He wants to reach out and touch her, but doesn’t, remembering the way she’d gently but firmly tugged her hand from his. Still, he smiles.  
  
“Earth,” he tells her. “Or have you forgotten the way?”  
  
~~~  
  
It was wishful thinking that she would forget her questions when they reached his quarters. As soon as the hatch is closed, she’s demanding to know what’s going on, what the Admiral said, if she’s…. Through the frustration, he catches a hint of genuine fear, almost desperation, in her voice.  
  
He knows what he has to say won’t ease her fear. Far from it. He closes his eyes because it’s easier if he doesn’t see her right now.  
  
“My father didn’t mention you at all. Not until I did. He didn’t know what I was talking about. The marines on the flight deck weren’t there for you; they came for me because I stole military property. And, and they put us in the same cell.” He opens his eyes now because he has to; he can’t leave her alone in this.  
  
“When I was gone, did the guard talk to you?” he asks. “Look at you?”  
  
Her eyes are wide and something in her looks brittle as she shakes her head.  
  
“And when we were walking through the halls, did anyone look at you the way they would look at—at someone who came back from the dead?”  
  
“No,” she whispers.  
  
“No,” he says, “they didn’t even see you.”  
  
“No,” she says, “no, that’s impossible. That’s—it doesn’t make any sense, Lee.”  
  
Lee can’t argue with her. It is impossible and it doesn’t make sense. But that’s Kara for you. At his silence, she just shakes her head and turns away from him. He takes a step towards her, but before he can reach her she’s in motion, opening the hatch and dashing out into the corridor.  
  
When Lee steps into the open hatch, he sees her poised in the center of the hall. He’s struck again with the image of her on the hangar deck just the day before—a still figure in the center of madness, the eye of the storm. The crewmembers moved around her, but not a one of them looked at her.  
  
Forget her mysterious return from the dead—Starbuck doesn’t get ignored. Not ever. And yet there she is. Their eyes meet for a moment across the open hatchway and the bustling corridor. Then she’s running.  
  
 _Frak._  
  
Lee takes off after her without a moment’s hesitation. He likes to think it’s because she needs him now, but a part of him is terrified that if he doesn’t catch her she’ll slip through his fingers like water. But the halls are busy with shift change, and it’s not like he can ask anyone here she went.  
  
 _Don’t lose me this time, Apollo._  
  
Forty minutes later he returns to his quarters, exhausted and more frightened than he cares to admit. His hand is heavy on the wheel of the hatch, and he doesn’t look up as he closes it behind him. Which is why he doesn’t see her.  
  
“Hey Apollo.”  
  
There she is, resting against the edge of the desk.  
  
“Kara.” Then, “where did you go?”  
  
She laughs, but it’s not particularly mirthful. “Where did I go? Who the hell knows since I’m _apparently_ a figment of your imagination.”  
  
He takes a step towards her, but frak if his legs aren’t cooperating now. Will his body and his brain ever function properly now that she’s here?  
  
“I went to the hangar bay,” she says, voice surprisingly even. “My Viper’s just sitting there you know, like, like nobody even notices, and…I went inside her. Nobody tried to stop me. I checked the ship’s computer and it’s been wiped clean. Not a single frakking thing. Which makes sense, I guess, since it’s never launched, never flown, never burned a single drop of fuel, and….”  
  
Kara sucks in a breath, presses one hand to her temple. She’s dry-eyed but the hand is shaking.  
  
When Lee pulls her into his arms, she doesn’t resist. “You’re not imaginary.” This is insane, he thinks. No, beyond, as he holds her tighter. He’s comforting a Kara that only he can see—comforting her because she’s having a frakking existensial crisis.  
  
“You’re not imaginary,” he says again, even if he has his doubts. “I couldn’t imagine you, Kara Thrace, not ever. And if I had? _This_ certainly isn’t what we’d be doing in my quarters.”  
  
She laughs then, and it’s better than before but still he doesn’t let go.  
  
~~~  
  
Some time later, when they’re both calm, she asks about Dee. Lee tells her, as simply as he can, that she left.  
  
Kara looks at him for a long while. When she speaks, her voice is low, unhappy. “Because of me?”  
  
It comes as a surprise to both of them when Lee starts to laugh. Kara scowls at this, and he only laughs harder.  
  
“Contrary to popular belief, not everything is about you.”  
  
Kara tries to keep scowling, but her face softens into an almost-smile. “That’d be more convincing, Apollo, if you hadn’t just sprung me from hack and hauled me off to your brand new bachelor pad.” They’re both silent for a moment too long, for when she speaks again that smile is gone. “I thought things were the best they’ve ever been.”  
  
He winces. “That’s…well, it wasn’t a lie, but…things were the best they’d ever been, but not because we—Dee and I—were happy, but because…because we were friends again. You and me. For the first time since New Caprica, we weren’t hating each other. And we weren’t cheating either, and…and for a little while it seemed like maybe we’d be okay. Somehow. Someday.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Kara says, so softly he almost doesn’t hear it.  
  
“Me too.”  
  
Lee must be a masochist because he chooses this moment—this moment where she’s sitting on his bed, knees bent, looking straight at him and smiling—he chooses this moment to say, “You probably want to know about Sam.”  
  
She bites her lip, the smile fading—doesn’t say anything and just inclines her head in the barest hint of a nod.  
  
“He, uh, was a bit of a mess, you know. Honestly Starbuck, did you train the poor man to be totally dependent on you? Took a dive off a Viper and busted his leg. And apparently was inspired to enlist. He’s in Racetrack’s class of nuggets. Got a callsign and everything.”  
  
Kara doesn’t look pleased to hear any of this, and he has no idea why, but she asks, “A callsign?”  
  
“Yeah, Longshot.”  
  
Kara’s quiet again, so Lee takes this opportunity once again to show off his brilliant masochistic streak. “Do you want to see him?”  
  
“And watch him not see me? No thanks, I’ll pass.”  
  
That’s a relief.  
  
“How’s your father?” she asks.  
  
“Oh, you know, the same. I’m not exactly his favorite person right now.” Lee pauses, wondering if he should say the words on his tongue. “He misses you.”  
  
Judging by the look in her eyes, this is not the most welcome news.  
  
She looks down. “What are we gonna do, Lee?”  
  
It’s easy in this moment to take her hand. She doesn’t resist, so Lee looks at their interlocked fingers, turning her hand over in his. When he glances back up at her face, her gaze is fixed on their hands. He grins and tugs gently. “I thought you said you knew the way.”  
  
“Uh.” Her expression is awkward, embarrassed. It takes a lot to embarrass Kara Thrace.  
  
“Oh Kara,” he says, shaking his head. “You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t.”  
  
“Look, it’s been kind of a stressful day,” she says, pulling her hand from his and twisting around to put her feet on the floor. “I’m sure it’ll come back to me.”  
  
It’s official, Lee thinks. He’s lost his mind. But he still can’t say it. Imaginary or not, he never wants to hurt her again. “Right,” he says because he needs to do something to keep the hysteria at bay. “Well now that you’ve _forgotten_ the way to Earth, just what the frak should we do?”  
  
He wants her to tell him what to do, Lee realizes. If she is a manifestation of his subconscious, isn’t that her job?  
  
~~~  
  
Her job, as it turns out, must be to drive him crazy from the beyond (or whatever in the seven hells is going on). That’s hardly a surprise, and really it’s his job that’s in question. Kara doesn’t tell him what to do in that respect either. He’s not sure if he’s grateful or not.  
  
In the end, maybe it’s not such a difficult decision. Despite his restlessness, his disaffection for command, Lee understands that his goal now is the Earth that Kara spoke of. And he understands, too, that, given their rather unique circumstances, Kara can’t get the Fleet there without him. And what good will he do her in a two-piece suit?  
  
But it’s not really any of these factors that make the decision for him. No, it’s the summons he promptly receives to the wardroom. He quickly dons his blues, not wanting to get thrown in hack for being out of uniform so soon after being liberated. When he turns around, he finds Kara watching him.  
  
“Come on Starbuck, you know it’s rude to stare,” he says as he does up the buttons on his jacket. The collar is bare, since his wings and rank pins are still in the Admiral’s office, awaiting judgment.  
  
“What are you gonna do,” she says as she saunters towards him, “send me to detention?”  
  
“I just might,” he mutters, trying to ignore that smug grin.  
  
“Hell no,” she says, beating him out the hatch. “You’re not leaving me out of this one, Apollo. It’s not like any of them will _know_ that I’m crashing the party.”  
  
He can’t exactly argue with that. And besides, he never could say ‘no’ to her.  
  
When Lee enters the conference room, he finds his father, Laura Roslin, and Colonel Tigh, along with Tory Foster and Karl Agathon. Not to mention the heavily armed marines standing guard over one of those Shelly Godfrey skinjobs.  
  
Lee can’t quite contain his surprise, and he hears Kara echo his noise of shock as he rushes to take his place beside Helo. Kara perches on the table between them, and— _frak_ , does she have to sit that way?  
  
The meeting appears to have started without them. The Cylon—Natalie, she calls herself—has the seat of honor as she faces the fleet’s military and civilian heads and resumes her tale.  
  
Lee’s a little embarrassed at just how much he has, apparently, missed in the last day or so. Natalie explains that there has been dissent amongst the Cylons for some time, and they had begun splitting into two factions. She says that Cavil has been campaigning to “lobotomize” the Raiders.  
  
“One—who you know as Cavil—has long considered himself our leader, though by rights he has no particular claim to the title. Until recently, this made no difference, however, since we lived in unanimous accord. But ever since New Caprica, a split has been developing. The Sixes, Twos, and Eights formed an alliance, and we began to make a contingency plan. We gathered on our own basestar, away from his control. But when he said he was going to lobotomize the Raiders, he turned against his own kind and struck the first blow.”  
  
Lee doesn’t really see what’s so bad about that, but evidently Natalie finds this to be a capital crime. She goes on to say that something strange happened at the nebula—that when the humans and the cylons clashed something changed.  
  
Kara sucks in a breath beside him, and Lee can’t help glancing to her. She’s staring straight at the cylon, but her left hand moves towards him and he doesn’t hesitate in grasping it in his own. This ease, this effortless physicality between the two of them—he’s missed it. When he looks up again, Helo is giving him a strange look, but thankfully remains silent.  
  
Natalie puts Lee and Kara out of their misery though, hurrying to explain. “We don’t know why, but one of the Raiders—thankfully Cavil had not gotten to them yet—chose to retreat. It had one of your Vipers in its sights, but chose to spare your pilot.”  
  
When the Cylon command center had received this signal, Cavil and his followers refused to follow the directive and, upon meeting resistance with their brothers and sisters, had turned the guns of their baseships on their own.  
  
“We barely escaped with our lives,” she says.  
  
So Natalie and her band of self-proclaimed rebels had requested asylum with the Colonial Fleet.  
  
“You want _us_ ,” Laura Roslin says, “to take you in? To protect a group of machines responsible for the destruction of billions of people—and to fix your baseship while we’re at it?”  
  
“We understand that this is a lot to ask for,” the Cylon responds, “but we are willing to lay down arms. Our ship can heal itself with time, but our Raiders took heavy losses. Our defenses our weakened. We will submit to your rule.” She pauses, her eyes focusing to the right of the Admiral. “And we can give you information on the Final Five cylons.”  
  
Kara’s attention is focused intently on the proceedings now, and Lee’s would be too if he weren’t distracted by the death grip she has on his hand.  
  
“The Eight. Boomer. She—she was with Cavil, and she saw things. One of the Final Five Cylons resurrected under Cavil’s guard. It’s been a year, and he has kept her secreted away from us. But Boomer, she saw and in the chaos at the nebula, she came to us.”  
  
Kara shakes her head slowly, muttering an oath under her breath.  
  
His father gives the order and another half-dozen marines march one Sharon Valerii, former Lieutenant, into the room. Lee notes with some surprise that she is unbound, except for the heavy threat of all those machine guns pointed her way. Kara moves to stand, and her left hand falls onto his shoulder. On her other side, Lee can tell that Karl Agathon is sitting ramrod straight, and to his credit he is not shying away from Boomer’s gaze.  
  
But none of that matters when the cylon drops her bombshell. She looks the XO in the eyes and tells them what she knows.  
  
“Ellen Tigh.”  
  
Lee wants to say that the room erupts into pandemonium, but it doesn’t really; it’s just that it _should_. Colonel Tigh stares with his one eye. His father says something low and angry to the man, but Tigh still just stares at Boomer.  
  
Kara whispers, “Damn, never would’ve guessed,” but he hears relief through her incredulity.  
  
President Roslin is the only one still speaking to Boomer, still demanding more information, the identity of the other cylons, the whereabouts of the other basestars, and so on.  
  
But the cylon cannot answer, or does not, and her eyes keep straying to Tigh and Adama, desperately seeking something. Finally, the Admiral calls for a break and has the marines escort the two “guests” to a holding cell.  
  
“Take ten,” he barks out.  
  
As he steps out into the corridor, Lee glimpses his father through the closing hatch, moving to stand before Colonel Tigh, the President at his side.  
  
“Lords, did you see Tigh’s face?” Kara says, calling Lee’s attention back to her as they move to the nearest unoccupied room. “Son of a bitch almost looked _happy_.”  
  
“Is that so hard to believe, Kara?” Lee shuts the hatch behind them, briefly taking in the storage locker. “She’s his wife.”  
  
“She’s a Cylon.”  
  
“Maybe so, but he still misses her.”  
  
Kara just looks at him evenly before stepping forward to stand just within arms’ reach. “I’m right here, Lee,” she says. She stretches out her right hand between them. “You still flying my wing?”  
  
Lee doesn’t hesitate to take her hand in his own. “I told you, Kara. Whatever it takes. I meant it.”


	2. Chapter 2

More meetings follow. Tigh is conspicuously absent, though, and Lee can only assume that the Admiral has convinced him to go off duty, or at least return to CIC. The President insists that they find out what Natalie and Boomer—as representatives of the rebel faction—truly want.  
  
“Fine,” the Admiral acquiesces, “but they’re staying in the brig and you are not going in there with them.”  
  
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” the President says with a slight smile that is at odds with her prior severity.  
  
The discussion is adjourned as they march in an awkward configuration to the holding cells. It’s doubly awkward for Lee, as Kara keeps stepping on the back of his feet.  
  
The marines on guard duty are surprised to see the entire contingent there, but quickly make accommodations for the fleet’s leaders. Meanwhile the two cylons watch from separate cells.  
  
“Good thing too,” Kara says, nodding to the bars dividing Boomer and Natalie, “security’s shit in here.”  
  
Lee does his best to ignore her.  
  
Boomer says that Ellen Tigh is being held captive. That Ellen has more information; Cavil believes she knows the key to resurrection, and Boomer believes she knows the way to Earth.  
  
“Either way,” Natalie insists, “she’s important and we cannot leave her in Cavil’s hands. We have to do something.”  
  
“What exactly do you propose?” Laura Roslin says, in that slow, even way Lee remembers from the day the worlds ended.  
  
“I am proposing a joint cylon-human offensive,” Natalie says. “We have a common enemy, and neither of us can defeat Cavil’s forces on our own.”  
  
She explains that they have reason to believe the other faction will be rallying around something called the Resurrection Hub.  
  
“This Hub controls the functions of every Resurrection Ship in existence. Madame President,” Natalie says, “you want a reason to work with us? Vengeance. You destroy the Hub, Cylons lose their ability to download. All of us.”  
  
No one can deny the allure of that idea.  
  
When they are all starting to fade, Adama calls an end to the meeting. He sends the two Cylons—each with their own squad of marines—to empty quarters in an isolated corridor of C Deck. With the only Cylon holding cell occupied, this will have to do for now.  
  
Too worn for much else, Lee calls for some rations to be brought to his quarters. He and Kara eat in silence before she yawns and declares this ‘incorporeal stuff’ to be hard work. Her accompanying grin more than makes up for the tension that’s been gnawing at him all day.  
  
Of course, they have to argue. Lee wants her to take the bed. She came back from the dead yesterday— _was it only yesterday?_ That’s more work than he’s done.  
  
Kara refuses, pointing out that she took the cot in the brig while he “sat on the floor and watched, like some stalker.”  
  
Lee feels ready to throttle her when she smiles again, slowly this time, and he realizes how good this feels. They’re standing in each others’ personal spaces, and he kind of wants to kiss her but somehow it seems important that they _not_ —at least, not yet. Not the first night. So he simply breathes in and out when she rolls her eyes and cheerfully throws herself onto the couch.  
  
They fall into a routine over the next few days, amidst endless planning sessions. Lee’s not CAG again—apparently his father’s initial concerns over his mental health have, shockingly enough, not been dissuaded by his recent insistence that he’d heard from Kara—and so he remains a driftless Major, pulling shifts in CIC.  
  
When they go to the mess, Lee takes care to find an unoccupied table, and piles enough food onto his single tray for the both of them. Neither of them knows if she actually needs food or drink or sleep, but he does and for now this routine is comfortable. So Kara sits across from him as they share the processed algae. They don’t talk, since Lee is doing his best not to end up in a straightjacket. Besides, Lee doesn’t mind the quiet, not when her knee brushes against his under the table.  
  
So they’re both more than a little startled one day when Helo claps Lee on the shoulder and slides his tray onto the table directly in front of Kara. She gives an undignified squeak and hurriedly slides out of the way just as Helo sits in her chair.  
  
It happens a few more times before Kara starts sitting next to him, so close that she’s practically pressed up against him, and he feels lighter every time their elbows knock.  
  
Kara isn’t with him at every moment. She never accompanies him to see the Admiral, and Lee can only assume that she doesn’t want to be there when he looks through her. Yet even with these brief absences, her presence feels constant enough. Lee doesn’t ask where she goes when he can’t see her. There’s an answer, but she doesn’t want to say it and he doesn’t want to hear it.  
  
Still, there are some moments when he almost wishes she _weren’t_ with him. She likes to tease him in the shower, which is just not fair when there are other pilots milling about.  
  
“What, Lee?” she says when he barely stifles a groan. “I’m just trying to keep up to your ridiculous hygiene standards. Pass the soap, will you?”  
  
He wonders what the other pilots see; do they see the bar of soap moving independently under the thin stream of water, or is anything that comes into contact with her rendered invisible?  
  
He’d rather like to be invisible now.  
  
And every night they trade places on the bed and the couch. And every night, Lee rolls over to find her pressed against him. Every night, he closes his eyes and pulls her closer. And every morning, when he opens his eyes, she’s back in her place.  
  
~~~  
  
Embarrassing as the shower incident was, it pales in comparison to one particularly painful meeting with Colonel Tigh.  
  
“You know, I heard that Cylons’ spines glow during sex,” Kara says as though discussing the weather.  
  
Lee’s fingers tighten on the reports in front of him, but thankfully Tigh keeps right on going with the plans for the proposed Cylon-human alliance.  
  
“Helo told me. You know how he is—get a little liquor in him and he’s all kiss and tell.”  
  
Lee doesn’t know why she thinks he needs to hear this, or why she thinks he needs to hear this _now_ , while they’re discussing the next quadrants to cover in recon as they search for signs of Cavil and this mysterious “Hub.” Apparently the damn thing has jump capabilities, so finding it is like finding a needle that, well, can travel faster than light in an infinite field of haystacks. Still, if they can destroy the Hub then all of the resurrection ships will become obsolete. The cylons will be mortal, and just about everyone on the Galactica agrees that would be a very, very good thing.  
  
Which is why Lee really ought to be giving this meeting his full attention, despite Kara’s warmth as she leans against the arm of his chair. It’s a little difficult, though, since she won’t stop talking.  
  
“I don’t know if it’s really true though,” she’s saying, “since Ellen Tigh frakked half the fleet and you’d think, with odds like that, one of ‘em would’ve noticed.” She gives the XO a scrutinizing look. “I mean, they must’ve been married at least twenty years, and he _never_ did her from behind?”  
  
Lee breaks into a hacking cough, prompting the Colonel to stop mid-sentence and stare at him.  
  
“Do you have a problem, Major?”  
  
“Uh, no, sir,” Lee says, trying desperately to ignore Kara’s laughter. “I was just wondering, sir, if you really think combining the two air forces will work.”  
  
Kara pouts beside him. “You’re no fun,” she says as he turns the conversation back to the logistics of this alliance.  
  
When they’re mercifully released from the meeting, a still laughing Kara practically skips—as much as Kara Thrace has ever skipped in her life—out into the corridor. As he continues to glare at her, she takes to jogging backwards in front of him down the fortunately uncrowded hall. Presumably so she can continue laughing at his face.  
  
“Gods Kara,” he grumbles, “why did you have to say that? Now I’m never going to be able to get that image out of my head.”  
  
“Never say never, Lee!” she shouts and takes off down the corridor. Lee doesn’t bother asking himself why he chooses this moment to chase her through the ship.  
  
Insanity is looking more promising every day.  
  
Then there’s the day he is in CIC, meeting with Felix Gaeta to discuss possible methods of tracking the Hub, and the undesirable but potentially powerful possibility of integrating Cylon FTL technology with their own jump drives in order to drastically expand their recon possibilities.  
  
“It is _possible_ ,” Gaeta says as though the word were poisonous, “that it would improve our drives. Theoretically, we could jump exponentially farther, and could find the Hub faster, or Earth, but…”  
  
“Lords,” Kara says, stalking around the console to stand behind the lieutenant, leaning over his shoulder. “And I thought you had a bug up your ass.”  
  
“We have no way to know what this will really do,” he’s saying, “if we could be introducing a virus into our system, if we’ll be able to control it, or even if the integration will work at all or just muck up our systems.”  
  
“So we have a lot of questions,” Lee says, not looking at Kara at all. “Is there any way for us to get answers?”  
  
Gaeta sighs over the folders spread atop his station, and Kara sighs dramatically in return.  
  
Lee does his best to ignore her for the next few minutes, focusing all of his attention on the Lieutenant. Gaeta finally says that yes, it looks like they’re best option at this point is to try the integration with one Raptor and run a test flight. Lee is not sure why it took so long to reach this conclusion, but he soon forgets about that when Gaeta turns around to confer with another bridge officer.  
  
And there, written in thick black marker that Lee knows will be a bitch to wash, are the words _FRAK ME, I’M A TIGER_.  
  
Beside him, Kara starts cackling with laughter at Lee’s wide-eyed look. When a few of the other bridge personnel give Gaeta odd looks, Lee wonders, not for the first time, if he’s imagining things.  
  
Still, it’s a good day.  
  
~~~  
  
Some days are hard. They’re full of recon missions that always come up empty, and briefings with his father or Colonel Tigh or the Cylons under house arrest that leave him feeling worn, like a damp rag that’s been twisted and wrung dry. But they’re good too, they’re so good, because even though she’s scowling as often as she’s laughing, she’s _there_.  
  
The nights are the hardest. He sleeps fitfully—he hasn’t gotten a full night’s rest in just over two months—but that’s not the problem. The problem is when he wakes in the dark and feels her sleeping beside him. He feels her warmth, feels her breath, and imagines he can feel her heart beating. But in the dark, it’s easier to doubt, easier to remember her voice, aching and desperate, crying _let me go_. In this moment, he wants to reach out and touch her, wrap his arms around her; he thinks he wants this more than he has ever wanted anything.  
  
But he doesn’t reach out. He doesn’t reach out because here, in the dark, the fear that his hand will meet only empty air is crippling, so crippling that he can only choke down his sobs and gasp voicelessly so that she doesn’t wake. His open eyes see little in the dark, so he closes them. The afterimage of colors bursting and fading is bright, too bright, but it’s not of light and it’s not something he can blink away.  
  
So he breathes and she breathes and eventually he sleeps.  
  
~~~  
  
Kara dreams.  
  
 _She’s been here before, although she’s not sure where ‘here’ is. There are lights in front of her, around her, but then they go down. There’s a voice that she’s heard before, a face that she knows. There’s a song.  
  
Her hand touches the ejection lever. She walks forward, her best shoes soundless on the plush carpeting. The song is Lee, calling to her. She lets go, closes her eyes; there are lights but then they go out. Still he’s calling her back._  
  
She wakes in Lee’s arms. It is not the first time this has happened, but it is the first time that his eyes have opened as she moves away.  
  
“Kara?” he mumbles, pushing up on his elbows and, by the presence of his body, trapping her here, on this bed, between him and the bulkhead.  
  
“Go back to sleep,” she says softly.  
  
He ignores her, damn him. Maybe that means she’s real, if he can ignore her and she can still feel… _this_.  
  
“What is it?” he says. “What did you dream?”  
  
She looks away from his eyes and gazes instead at his palm pressed against the sheets. She can still feel the ejection lever in her grasp. Is there any reason to hide from him now when he’s the only one in her world?  
  
“I dreamed about…before. Before I came back. I think.”  
  
Lee pushes all the way up to sitting, legs bent in front of him. He’s serious now, and sad. He sounds beaten down when he speaks, and his eyes keep drifting from her own. “What happened to you, Kara?”  
  
“I don’t frakking know.” She sucks in a breath and blinks away nothing in the dim room. “I wasn’t afraid.”  
  
“Of dying?”  
  
“Yeah. Or of living. I’m not…I didn’t mean to die. I think. It’s—I don’t know. It feels kind of distant now, or…blurry. Because I’m flying, and then I see Earth. It’s like I can feel it, like I’m standing on it and breathing it in because I just _know_. I know it’s Earth. And then I’m in the nebula, and there you are.” She grins then, and when her fingers brush against his it’s not entirely an accident. “Flying my wing.”  
  
He laughs. “Don’t you think it’s the other way around, Kara? I think it’s you who was flying _my_ wing.”  
  
She smiles again, bites her bottom lip. “You’re dreaming, Apollo.” The smile fades. “So there’s the storm, and there’s Earth, and there’s you. But I know there had to be something between all that, I just—can’t…”  
  
Lee doesn’t say a word, but his fingers gently wrap around her own.  
  
“I don’t know why I was saved,” she says. “I don’t know what I have to give.”  
  
“I do,” he says. And with his hand holding fast to her own, she knows it’s true.  
  
When he kisses her, she sighs into his mouth, and when his hands slide over her skin she forgets everything else, forgets to worry, forgets that she’s not real because there is only this: his hands and hers, and the air they share.  
  
If Kara had been asked what their first time in so long would have been like, she might have said frenzied, frantic, angry even. Or slow and torturous.  
  
In reality, it is neither. If anything, it is easy, so easy that she almost can’t believe how long it’s been. They move together, and there are no whispered words, only soft sighs and smiles and laughs as they breathe each other in. When it’s over, she lies pressed against his side, their joined hands resting on his chest.  
  
~~~  
  
Life, such as it is, continues. They send out recon missions: Heavy Raiders with Cylon pilots and human co-pilots watching their every move, and Raptors armed with Cylon transponders and outfitted with hybridized Cylon FTL drives. These new jump drives are similar in theory to the one used for the Caprica mission, or so Gaeta claims, but far more efficient—no cables in veins anymore.  
  
They check system after system for any sign of Cavil’s basestars or the Hub. Lee doesn’t know if they’ll ever find it, but what else can they do but keep striving forward?  
  
Meanwhile Lee makes sure to send out twice as many Vipers on CAP now, half guarding the Fleet and half guarding the toasters.  
  
Lee doesn’t fly though, not CAP or recon or anything else. His father doesn’t ask him—or command him—to make a decision, and Lee doesn’t know what he would choose anyway. Part of him fears what would happen if he flew again; after all, he can hardly take Kara with him in the cockpit, and he fears that flying again might end this strange spell that began with that fateful flight in the nebula.  
  
So he pulls shifts in CIC, attends meeting after meeting, even presses their Cylon guests for more information. Kara is by his side for all of this. It’s like before, but not.  
  
It’s not that he was unaware of these things about her, these little details in the corner of her being—from the way her tongue flicks against her teeth when she speaks, to the scent of her hair and the feel of it against his skin, to the sound of her sighs—all these little things and more. It’s not that he was unaware of them before, but now he’s allowed, and now they fill his consciousness like never before.  
  
It makes the days easier, to say the least.  
  
~~~  
  
“When did they get a piano in here?”  
  
Lee turns to look at Kara, sitting beside him at Joe’s bar. She’s twisted around on her stool, looking back to where an old stand-up piano rests unattended on the deck.  
  
“Oh, uh…I have no idea,” he admits, looking forward as the bartender returns with the two shots Lee ordered. Lee surreptitiously slides one over to Kara. “I haven’t been down here in awhile,” he says.  
  
She picks up the shot glass, observing the brown liquid for a moment before smoothly knocking it back. Lee can’t help admiring the line of her arm, the curve of her jaw, the soft skin of her neck in the dim light. Skin which he longs to touch, but admirably resists.  
  
“My mom made me take lessons, you know,” Lee says. “For a couple years. I was crap at it. Hated my teacher, never wanted to practice.”  
  
“Zak didn’t play.”  
  
It’s not a question, but Lee answers anyway. “No, after the divorce she didn’t care so much about our extracurriculars. Let me stop; never made Zak start.”  
  
She rolls the glass between her fingers, not looking at him. “My dad used to play.”  
  
Lee is silent, watching her. He can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she’s talked about her parents, and he’s learned not to ask. Her jaw works for a moment as though unable to form the words that come next.  
  
“I loved it.” _I loved him._ “He used to sit me next to him on the bench when he played. Smell of tobacco on his breath. He taught me a few songs. I used to try so hard to get them right. Not because I was afraid he’d be angry, but because I knew he would be so proud.” She sets the glass down on the bar, and looks up at Lee, her eyes wistful. “There was this one song that he taught me—it…made me feel happy and sad all at the same time.”  
  
Lee reaches for her hand and enjoys the fact that she lets him, that her fingers curl lightly into his. He nods in the direction of the piano. “Play it for me?”  
  
She looks startled, shakes her head emphatically. “No way. I never played after he left. I don’t frakking remember it, and even if I did—” Her mouth snaps shut, and she gives another shake of her head.  
  
“Hey, hey, easy, it’s okay.” He tugs her hand, pulls her closer. Kisses her and doesn’t care if anyone’s watching.  
  
She smiles against his mouth, laughs softly into his jaw. “Nice save, Adama.” She gives him another quick kiss before pulling back. “Now put that mouth to good use and buy me another drink.”  
  
She doesn’t mention it again until that night, sitting on their bunk while Lee finishes some reports. “Hey, Lee?”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“What happened to my stuff?”  
  
That gets his full attention, and he turns to look at her, all thoughts of work forgotten. She’s sitting with her back to the bulkhead, dressed in just her briefs and a single tank.  
  
“It, uh, it was auctioned off. Sam refused to take it, so….”  
  
“You didn’t…?”  
  
He shakes his head sharply. “I couldn’t.” Takes a deep breath. “Do you want it back?”  
  
She frowns slightly, thinking for a moment before answering. “There is one thing….”


	3. Chapter 3

Lee goes to Helo about Kara’s request. He just doesn’t have the same pull with the pilots as he once did, and he didn’t even go to the auction after all. Kara’s not with him today, and Lee imagines it’s because she knows what’s next on his schedule: a meeting with the Admiral of the Fleet.  
  
The meeting does not go as expected, from the moment Lee enters his father’s quarters to find the old man on the couch, a tumbler of expensive whiskey in his hand. He offers Lee a glass, and the two sit for a minute in companionable silence, just drinking.  
  
Hours later, Lee’s still musing over the strange conversation when he enters his quarters. Kara is waiting, leaning back in the chair, her bare feet propped up on his desk. When he walks in, she grins in such a way that Lee immediately forgets the day’s events.  
  
After, Kara untangles herself from his body and rises from the bed, still naked, sashaying in a way that ought to be a crime, as she goes for a glass of water. She stops, however, when her gaze falls on the desk. Specifically, on an item he’d discarded in favor of putting his hands to better use.  
  
On the bed, Lee pushes up on one elbow to watch her. “Kara?” he says when she’s been still for too long.  
  
She turns back to face him, the small figurine gripped in one hand. “Where did you get this?”  
  
He blinks, rubs one hand over his jaw. “My father gave it to me, just today. Said it was something that…that meant the world to him.” Lee speaks slowly, cautiously almost as he recalls the low timber of his father’s voice. “He said he wanted me to have it, but he wouldn’t tell me what it was.” He frowns slightly, unsure. “Why? What is it?”  
  
Kara’s eyes are still on the statue as she walks over and sits beside him on the bed, atop the rumpled sheets. “I gave it to him,” she says. “The last time I saw him, before.”  
  
“What is it?” he asks again.  
  
Kara sucks in a deep breath, still not looking at him. “Aurora, goddess of the dawn. I found her in some stupid Oracle’s tent down in Dogsville. Seemed, I dunno, important at the time.”  
  
“And now?”  
  
“Well I’m here,” Kara says, finally raising her eyes, “and here she is. And Aurora, she’s supposed to bring a, a fresh start. That can’t all be coincidence, right?”  
  
It’s Lee’s turn to look away, to stare at the tiny metal woman as though she holds the answers. He can feel the weight in the room, the air pressing down and around the two of them, and he knows what he says next really _matters_ so it had damn well better be good.  
  
“You know, you used to talk about having a destiny, and I didn’t really understand then. I’m not sure I do now either, but…you, here?” He reaches for her hand, the one that’s still holding Aurora on the bed between them. His fingers close around hers. “It’s not nothing.”  
  
She smiles then, and he feels her grasp loosen beneath his. “You saying my destiny is, what, to be your super special frakbuddy?”  
  
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”  
  
She laughs and kisses him, and for now it’s alright.  
  
~~~  
  
“It’s not going to work,” Kara says. They’re in the Admiral’s quarters—Lee, Helo, Tigh, and Adama. Plus Natalie and Natalie’s armed guards. They’ve been hammering the details of the battle plan for the Hub mission for going on three hours now, and tempers are fraying. Kara was never known for keeping hers in line. “Lee,” she snaps, “tell them it’s not going to work! You’re going to get all of your pilots frakking killed before you can say ‘jump.’”  
  
She’s probably right, Lee thinks, but he doesn’t see much point in saying it. Her ego is dangerously inflated as is, and besides…  
  
“It’s not going to work,” the Admiral says, leaning back in his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose.  
  
There it is. This statement of the obvious doesn’t seem to appease Kara though.  
  
“Damn right it’s not. So what are you going to do about it?” She’s standing just across the desk from the Admiral, leaning forward with her hands planted on the edge.  
  
“It might still work,” Helo is saying, “if we can just find some way to distract them, draw their fire…”  
  
It strikes Lee suddenly that Kara is wearing her blues, neatly pressed and ironed as ever, pips and wings gleaming on her collar. She doesn’t have clothes though, not really. They are just there when she needs them. So why, he wonders, the uniform? Is it simply routine, or does she have an unspoken desire to be a part of this, to be one of the officers again?  
  
What if it’s not _her_ desire, but rather his? Does she appear however he imagines her? Lee suddenly coughs into his fist and looks at the Cylon who is speaking. He steadfastly does not look at Kara as he tells himself that _now is not the time_ to be picturing Kara naked.  
  
It’s hard to ignore her though, as she keeps interrupting, or trying to interrupt the meeting.  
  
Eventually, the Admiral announces the meeting adjourned, and has the Cylon escorted back to her room. Helo and Tigh leave soon after, and Lee, rather reluctant to have another heart to heart with his father, makes his own awkward excuses.  
  
Kara doesn’t say a word on the way back to his quarters, striding in front of him so that he can’t quite see her face.  
  
She’s pissed, Lee thinks distantly. His hallucinations sure aren’t very accommodating.  
  
No sooner has he closed the hatch behind him, than she is rounding on him, hands on hips and mouth a sharp line.  
  
“Fat lot of good you were in there,” she says.  
  
Lee can already see how this is going to go, but he still can’t control his instinctual ire. “Well what do you expect?” he tosses back. “It’s a little hard to concentrate on the actual conversation with you there.”  
  
“I’m _so sorry_ ,” she snaps back, pacing away from him now. “I’ll just go haunt someone else, shall I?”  
  
“Oh come on, Kara,” Lee says, following after her, “don’t take all this out on me. You’re just mad that no one’s listening to you.”  
  
She whirls around, and suddenly they’re only separated by a short distance. “And so what if I am, Lee? You think I like this? You think this is fun? Following you around everywhere, not being able to do anything for myself, and the entire frakking world frakking ignoring me?”  
  
Her eyes are blazing with anger, but Lee feels his own draining away. He almost laughs when he glances down and sees her clenched fists. “You know, I was starting to wonder if maybe you _were_ in my head, since the real Kara Thrace would never go this long without shouting at me or punching someone.”  
  
Kara stares at him incredulously, then snorts and gives her head a little shake. “Frak, Lee,” she says and smacks his shoulder with one closed fist.  
  
“Ow,” he complains, rubbing at the spot. She pulled the punch, as much as she ever pulls punches—which is not very much. “Real nice, Kara. Good to know some things never change.”  
  
“Laugh all you want Lee, but you’ve got to admit this situation is seriously FUBAR.”  
  
“That’s easy for you to say,” Lee tells her. “What do you have to worry about? I’m the one that might be going crazy.”  
  
“Sure,” she scoffs, “and I’m just the one whose entire frakking existence is being called into question. You know, normally I’d be flattered to have such a starring role in Lee Adama’s delusions…”  
  
She lets the sentence hang there for a moment, then brings one hand up to brush gently against his cheek before settling into the curve of his neck. She closes her eyes and leans in slightly, so slightly—not enough to bring their bodies together but just enough that Lee can feel the air she breathes curling against his chest and the length of her like a phantom limb. Neither of them are laughing when she speaks again.  
  
“When I gave your father the statue of Aurora, I was pretty frakked up.”  
  
Lee bites back the familiar rush of panic and guilt, waiting silently as she seems to gather her thoughts, eyes open now and staring into his.  
  
“And even though everything had gone to shit, I still had that—faith. That I was meant for something.” She grimaces. “That I had a _destiny_. And when I came back, everything was so clear. But now that’s all gone and it’s just…” She drops her hand from his neck, and twists her head slightly to the side, glancing down and away before looking back up again. “Gods, it’s just so frakking stupid and pointless.”  
  
Lee frowns, searching for the right words as he resists the urge to close the gap between them. “You know I didn’t believe in that stuff. But now, with you here…I think I finally understand what you meant about having a destiny. We’ve got to do this, you and me. Got to find that Hub and go wherever else this life leads us. And the fact that I don’t have an explanation why doesn’t…doesn’t really seem to matter anymore.  
  
“That,” he continues, “or maybe I’m just crazy.”  
  
She smiles slightly. “Oh, you’re crazy alright. Downright insane, I’d say.”  
  
The next thing Lee knows, she’s reaching for his hand and then she’s pressing her lips to his and they’re moving, stumbling, staggering backwards until Lee’s backside hits the desk. She pulls back slightly and bites her lip to hold back a smile.  
  
Lee whispers into the quiet that follows, “Maybe it’s the gods or god or destiny or maybe it’s just us, just Lee and Kara…but I can’t shake the feeling that this is something we were meant to do.”  
  
She laughs then. “Oh really?”  
  
“Really,” he says, and kisses her.  
  
~~~  
  
A few days later, Lee enters the Agathons’ quarters. Athena is on CAP, he knows, so it’s just Helo and little Hera. The girl is sitting at a small table with crayons and papers spread in front of her.  
  
“Hey Apollo,” Helo calls from the back of the room, “got your message. Just gimme a sec.”  
  
Lee nods and turns to see that the girl has stopped drawing and is looking at him. No, not at him—she is gazing right at Kara, who has abruptly appeared at his side, as she is wont to do these days. As if that isn’t unsettling enough, Kara jabs her elbow into his side and rolls her eyes in the direction of the child.  
  
When he still doesn’t move, she actually shoves him forward. “Idiot,” she mutters under her breath just as his legs finally get the message and start walking.  
  
“Hey, Hera,” he says. She just looks between him and Kara. Gods, this is uncomfortable. “What are you drawing?”  
  
“Stars?” Kara prompts when the kid is still silent.  
  
She nods, eyes turning back to her paper. Kara gives Lee another pointed look, and another pointed elbow in the side.  
  
He winces. “Uh, they’re very nice stars.”  
  
Hera whispers “thank you” so softly that Lee’s not entirely certain she actually said the words. Still, he nods in reply and turns away from the girl as Helo approaches.  
  
“Attaboy,” Kara says, patting him on the back.  
  
Fortunately, Kara’s sufficiently interested in what Helo’s got in his hands that she can’t be bothered with her usual game of humiliating Lee in public.  
  
“Took me awhile,” the other man is saying, “but I managed to track this down after you asked. You know Catman, of all people, had it? No idea the guy was a music buff.”  
  
Lee takes the object from Karl’s hand, feeling the cool plastic of the case. Catman, at least, seems to have taken good care of it, for there’s nary a scratch on it.  
  
“That what you were looking for?” Helo says in that even, appraising voice of his.  
  
At Lee’s side, Kara nods. “Yeah, this is it,” he says.  
  
Lee turns toward the hatch, Kara just over his shoulder when Hera halts him in his tracks with just a gesture. She’s holding out that same paper with its colored stars and looking expectantly at him—or Kara, she’s standing so close that Lee can’t say for sure which it is.  
  
“Is that for me?” Lee asks, as nicely as he can. Lords, but he doesn’t know how to talk to kids.  
  
She just keeps holding it out and keeps staring—gods, does she even blink?—at them. Not knowing what else to do, Lee takes it in his free hand.  
  
He looks down at the drawing for a moment. “Thank you,” he tells Hera with a smile. “And thank you too,” he says to Helo. “I owe you one.”  
  
The man just looks at him in that infuriating I-know-something-about-you way. “Damn right you do.”  
  
“Don’t worry,” Kara says once they’re out in the corridor. “You ever need to shut him up, I’ve got plenty of dirt on him.”  
  
“Very funny,” Lee says. They walk in silence for a few minutes. Then, “so what did you want this for anyway?”  
  
She shrugs, taking the case from him as he opens the hatch to his quarters. Her fingers trace the outline of the figure on the cover. Once they’re inside, she’s immediately popping it open and heading towards the locker. He knows she’s going to get the music player he’d won (with her help—it wasn’t _really_ cheating) at the triad table two nights ago.  
  
“Just wanted it,” she says, her back to him.  
  
As the gentle tones of piano music fill the room, Lee picks up the discarded case, familiarizing himself with this rare piece of her she’s sharing. He takes in the black-and-white profile and the silver lettering.  
  
 _Daniel Thrace: Live at the Helice Opera House._  
  
~~~  
  
A few nights later, after a hard shift, Kara coaxes Lee out to Joe’s. Once they get there, however, it appears that she’s the one who needs the coaxing. She stops in her tracks, transfixed by that piano, still sitting there untouched.  
  
“Come on,” Lee says. He takes her hand and it’s like he’s flying by feel alone as he guides her through the room to the looming piano. “Play for me?”  
  
She stops just beside the bench, staring down at those keys. She looks wounded and afraid in a way that reminds him painfully of that day, that day when he’d seen her in the memorial hall, staring at a blank space on the wall. Had she known then what was coming?  
  
But now Kara meets his eyes, that look passes, and he can breathe again. They sit on the bench, legs and thighs and hips pressed together. Kara’s hands hover over the ivory keys, then she pulls them back in, twisting her fingers in her lap.  
  
“You play,” she whispers.  
  
Lee puts his hands on the keys, calling back his ten-year-old self, and hesitantly taps out a scale and a few chords. Kara just sits and watches like she’s waiting for something, so Lee finally begins to pick out the melody from that song she’s been listening to obsessively. It takes him a few tries to get anything remotely resembling the tune, but when he does Kara seems to snap back to herself.  
  
“No, that’s,” she says quickly, “that’s wrong.” When the brushes his hand aside and touches the keys, something seems to go through her. She inhales and exhales shakily, then slowly begins to play. Each note seems to hang quivering in the air between them, and Lee sees Kara blinking furiously as she plays.  
  
He spots a pencil and some bare pages of sheet music atop the piano, and begins to painstakingly mark down each note. For perhaps the first time in his life, he’s grateful for those years of lessons.  
  
Kara pauses in her playing, glancing up to see what he’s doing. “Holy crap,” she whispers and immediately starts fumbling for something in her back pocket.  
  
Lee watches, not comprehending, as she unfolds a piece of paper to reveal Hera’s drawing. A feeling starts to build deep in his gut as she lays the drawing atop his own work and the notes line up almost perfectly. It’s only the latest in weeks of impossible things, but somehow this one impossibility seems that much more unbelievable.  
  
Kara, on the other hand, seems possessed by some unseen force, her hands moving with more urgency than he’s seen in too long.  
  
“Play the chords, Lee,” she says. Before he can protest that he doesn’t know how, her left hand covers his and she’s there, pressing his fingers to the right keys, pounding out the rhythm while her right hand lets loose with the melody.  
  
Suddenly, a heavy hand falls on Lee’s shoulder and spins him around on the bench. He looks up into the perturbed face of Colonel Tigh.  
  
“Where did you learn to play that song?”  
  
Lee is at a loss for words, and he knows better than to look to the left for help. “Piano lessons,” he says, “when I was a kid.”  
  
“What are you talking about?” the Colonel says. Tory Foster, Chief Tyrol, and Sam Anders crowd around him.  
  
“What are _you_ talking about?” Lee shoots back, staring at the odd group before him. What, are they _friends_?  
  
“Who did this?” Foster asks, gripping the sheet music in both hands.  
  
“I did,” Lee snaps back, momentarily thankful that she hasn’t seized Hera’s drawing. He doesn’t think his reputation would survive telling everyone he has a penchant for coloring.  
  
It’s Sam who pulls Tigh and the others away. Lee watches them go, not sure what to make of the decidedly strange encounter. But when he shrugs it off and turns to his silent companion, she’s still staring after them. Lee doesn’t have to look to know her eyes are on her husband as he walks away.  
  
Since she’d initially refused to see Sam, Lee has wondered what her reaction to such an encounter would be. Still, he hasn’t anticipated this. She looks settled in a way he couldn’t have expected, and there’s something almost serene in her eyes as she turns back to him, letting her fingers drag over the piano keys.  
  
After a few minutes have passed in quiet contemplation, she turns to him again. “I haven’t thought about my dad in ages,” she says. “I was so angry.”  
  
“What changed?”  
  
Kara tilts her head to the side as she looks at him, leaning her cheek on one hand while her other moves not-so-accidentally to rest next to his on the keys. “I’m not afraid anymore.”  
  
~~~  
  
The next day, Lee returns from a shift in CIC to find Kara sitting at his desk, several pages of what appear to be mathematical notes—and he thinks he sees Hera’s drawing too—spread out before her as she worries his pen between her teeth.  
  
She barely pays him any attention as he greets her, so intent is she on whatever the hell she’s doing.  
  
Typical, Lee thinks without any real displeasure. Any other imaginary friend would actually notice him and listen when he talks and all that. But not Kara Thrace.  
  
“Long-range sensors picked up some readings in a nearby system,” he says. “Might be Cavil—either he’s there now, or he jumped recently.” Lee waits for a reaction. Nothing. She gives a little “hmm” between her teeth as she scribbles something down on the paper.  
  
“So you know we need to fine-tune this battle plan,” Lee continues. “And we’ve got to be ready to go ASAP.”  
  
She grunts.  
  
“Dad says we need something outside the box, of course. So I’m thinking we’ll ditch the traditional Vipers and gun batteries approach. I think if we just get Gaius Baltar on the comms, he can preach to his heart’s content while we replace all our ammo with algae substitute. That’ll show ‘em.”  
  
“Mm-hm.”  
  
Lee sits on the bunk, and half-heartedly glares at the back of her head. “Kara. What are you doing? What’s so important that you decided to hang around here all day?”  
  
“Instead of hanging around CIC all day? Painting my frakking toenails, Lee.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, smartass,” he says, unbuttoning his uniform jacket and shrugging out of it. Next, he goes to work on his boots, sighing with relief when they’re off. In just his socks, he pads over to the desk, peering over Kara’s shoulder at the pages filled with musical notes and mathematical equations. “Considering a new career as a mathematician?”  
  
“Hilarious,” she says. “Do you write your own material?”  
  
He can see the corner of her smile, though, as he lightly cuffs her head in retaliation.  
  
“No, I’m…” She hesitates, turning slightly in the chair so that she’s facing him now. “You won’t laugh?” When he shakes his head, she continues. “I’ve been thinking about that song, the one my dad taught me and…I dunno, I think it’s important somehow. I’ve been having these dreams, and hearing the song, and then Hera writes the notes…it can’t be a coincidence.  
  
“I think it’s a code. I think if I can work out numerical values for the notes in the sequence, we’ll have jump coordinates.”  
  
Lee stares at the desk, then at her. She’s looking at him expectantly. “You really think you can do this?”  
  
She shrugs, standing up. “I do. Besides, it makes about as much sense as anything else these days.” She brushes past his shoulder. “That algae idea’s inspired, Lee. Bastards’ll never see it coming.”  
  
~~~  
  
Later, Lee will think he should have seen it coming, should have known this peace would not last. But now, things are happening too fast and the pieces don’t fall into place until it’s far too late.  
  
Kara spends much of the next night and day puzzling over her calculations, and somehow still finds the time to go over the plan he’s drawn up with his father. The plan is inspired, and perhaps the most dangerous thing his father has ever proposed. But Starbuck approves, and that will have to be enough for Apollo.  
  
That night, Kara lets Lee hold her after their lovemaking. He can’t find it in him to worry in this moment, not with Kara’s chin tucked into his neck, her cheek pressing against his. His hands trace the strong lines of her back, and her toes drag against his calf. He falls asleep like this, his senses suffused with _her_.  
  
~~~  
  
Kara falls asleep smiling. His body warms her, and she feels his arms around her even in dreams.  
  
 _Kara opens her eyes and takes in the lush colors and the grand, open space. She knows this place. She has been here before.  
  
She walks forward, past the rows and rows of empty seats. She’s wearing her best shoes, which aren’t very comfortable, but Daddy likes them. They are soundless on the plush carpeting. When the music finishes, he calls her up on stage. There are five bright pillars behind him, but they make her eyes hurt to look at them. _  
  
I’m sorry, Kara, _he says,_ for so many things. I’m sorry you had to see like this. But you’re free now.  
  
 _With the last strains of music still echoing between them, she takes his hand. The warmth of it touches her through the thick flight glove as though there were no barrier. Hands together, they turn their backs on the crowded opera house.  
  
He guides her through those pillars and Kara closes her eyes against the bright light. Blue and red and yellow burn against her eyelids. She’s weightless, tethered to this world by his hand alone.  
  
Kara takes a breath, opens her eyes. She sees stars._  
  
Kara wakes, still in Lee’s arms, and she knows. All her life, she’s seen circles and circles, endless cycles and patterns. This one finally makes sense.


	4. Chapter 4

Around 0400, a Heavy Raider patrol jumps back to the Fleet with the news. They’ve done the impossible; they’ve found the needle in the godsdamn haystack.  
  
Lee was jolted from sleep by Gaeta’s voice blaring through the speakers—gods, did the man never sleep?— _Action stations, action stations! Set Condition One throughout the Fleet. Repeat—_  
  
Lee is in uniform and running to CIC before the announcement finishes. Later, he will wonder why he didn’t realize then that Kara wasn’t with him. Later, he will wonder many things.  
  
~~~  
  
When Kara was very little, she told her mother, once, that she was afraid of puddles. It was a stupid thing to fear, she knew, and her mother didn’t hesitate to tell her. But after the rain, when she walked down the street and saw the smooth planes of water on the pavement—well, then it was hard to remember how stupid it was.  
  
There was a thought, barely formed and beyond words, when she looked into the water and saw her own reflection staring back at her. A thought that when she looked away a part of herself—the part that was looking back at her—would cease to be.  
  
Now, Kara knows the truth, or something like it; she knows that she’s not the little girl peering into the water, but the one looking back. And just like when she was a child, she fears that when Lee looks away, she’ll vanish.  
  
He’s not looking away, and she loves him for that, she really does, but she _hates_ this, hates this stupid frakking destiny and this stupid frakking dependent shit. She’s Kara Thrace, or something like it, and there’s one thing she knows better than herself.  
  
Lee takes the right-hand causeway to CIC. Kara watches his retreating form. Then she turns left.  
  
~~~  
  
His father is reigning in CIC when Lee arrives, alone.  
  
“Admiral,” Lee says, “what’s our status?”  
  
“Raider 174 reported back,” he says. “We can’t waste this opportunity. The mission is happening RFN.”  
  
Lee knows the plan, knows that Colonel Tigh and a select team of crewmembers are aboard the rebel baseship right now. And from one look at DRADIS, he can see that they’re spooling up their jump drives. The civilian ships have already retreated to the rendezvous point.  
  
It’s out of their control now. A lot of things have to go just right in the first stage of the attack. Dee has spent the last week or so working with a Two who calls himself Adam on a data link between the baseship and Galactica. They can’t manage comms over this distance, but with the Cylon’s help they’ve got a link so that Dee can read regular reports of their progress.  
  
They’ve made contact, she reports. Cavil’s taking the bait. Boomer’s piloting the Raider with the extraction team. They’re all Cylons, of course, so that Cavil won’t suspect this is anything but a cease-fire negotation. Athena is there, however, posing as another Eight. Trust, it seems, will only go so far, and Lieutenant Agathon will be Galactica’s eyes and ears.  
  
There’s a moment when Dee catches his gaze, and Lee notices she’s not wearing her ring. She nods just once, and he knows what it means. After all, his fingers are bare too. Then the moment passes and he turns back to the tac table.  
  
For a while, it looks like the battle might go according to plan. Athena reports that they’ve got Ellen Tigh, and they’re heading back to the Raider to get out of there. While Cavil’s distracted, the rebel basestar’s Raiders cut the cords, setting loose the Vipers that had been drifting, hidden behind the Cylon ships. Then they’re up and they’re moving into formation to target the baseships’ FTL drives while the rebel ship turns its guns on the Hub.  
  
It doesn’t take Cavil long, however, to recover from the initial shock and soon enough the tide is turning in his favor; he does have seven basestars to their one. The clock is ticking away, and—  
  
“Jump,” says the Admiral, taking the Galactica and her fighter squadrons right into the heart of the fray.  
  
Of course, that’s when everything turns to shit.  
  
~~~  
  
The hangar deck is chaos, but then again it always is, and Kara finds comfort in the familiarity. It’s useful too, since in the chaos none of the deckhands look too hard at her face behind the helmet, or the nameplate on the side of her Viper. They don’t even need to speak as she hauls ass into her cockpit and slides the canopy shut; they just push the Viper into place. Then she’s there in the tube, launching, g-forces pressing into her skin, battle pounding through her veins, and the whole of the cosmos spinning before her.  
  
Starbuck throws herself into the fight. She has no wingman, but that’s no deterrent. These pilots may not even know she’s there, but the Raiders are damn well about to find out.  
  
~~~  
  
Later, Lee will hear the story of how a series of miscommunications allowed Boomer to walk right out of the long-term daycare with little Hera Agathon, and how she drugged the child and smuggled her aboard the Raider she flew to Cavil’s basestar. How Athena didn’t even notice until it was too late.  
  
He’ll hear how Cavil threatened to kill the hybrid child if they did not surrender. How the normally unflappable Helo lost it in the rebels’ command center, and how the battle swayed further in Cavil’s favor.  
  
He’ll hear how Colonel Tigh got on the line with the Cylon and announced that he was one of the precious Final Five, and he’d shoot himself and the other three right then if Cavil didn’t give up the girl.  
  
Lee will hear how Cavil hesitated, and in that fateful second his steadfast supporter Boomer would put a bullet in his brain, and then, before Athena could reach for her service weapon, would eat the end of her gun for the second—and final—time in her life.  
  
Lee will come to understand the entire bizarre sequence of events later, but for now he ignores the dizzying rush of information from the data link in favor of survival.  
  
His father nearly collapses when the news about Tigh comes, and then the President, having insisted that she be present for this historic fight, _does_ collapse.  
  
The old man stumbles to her side when the entire ship shudders with the force of a blast. “You have the con!” he shouts.  
  
“I have the con,” Lee says, and he does. His fingers grip the cold rail in front of him and he barely keeps his feet through another hit.  
  
Then it’s a haze of frenzied action and barked orders—turn the ship, protect the jump drives, aim the gun batteries, and launch everything they’ve got at the Hub. Stay alive until the mission is complete and their people are back on board. Just stay alive.  
  
~~~  
  
When the Hub finally blows in a series of explosions that rip through the structure from end to end and balloon outward across her vision, Kara screams long and loud as she pulls her ship away, away from the debris from the dying ship. And she doesn’t care if anyone is listening, gods or pilots or Cylons, because she’s Starbuck and she knows her place in the universe.  
  
She screams until she’s gasping for breath, and then she’s laughing, laughing as she arcs and rolls between and around other fighters, finger on the trigger watching Raider after Raider explode in bursts of blue and red and yellow. She’s laughing and she’s breathing and she’s still flying.  
  
~~~  
  
They won’t last much longer. The plan was nigh impossible from the start, with the Cylons heavily outnumbering them. Still, they’ve accomplished their goal: the Hub is history, and the Vipers have successfully taken out the FTL drives of the remaining basestars. Even if any of Cavil’s forces make it through the next few minutes, they’ll be stuck here, limping through space to whatever end they can find.  
  
“Extraction team is back aboard the rebel basestar, sir,” Dee’s voice rings through the din.  
  
“All Vipers back to the barn!” Lee shouts, even as Dee begins calling them home. “Combat landings, now.”  
  
“Sir, we’ve taken damage to our primary engines,” an unknown ensign reports. “We’re barely able to maneuver, and batteries are skosh ammo!”  
  
“FTL?”  
  
There’s a pause, as the ensign calls down to the snipes. “Still functional, sir!”  
  
“Begin jump prep,” Lee says.  
  
“All Vipers back on board, sir,” Dee says. “Ready to go, Major.”  
  
Lee turns to Lieutenant Gaeta, expecting word on the jump prep when he realizes that the man is missing from his post. It’s then that Lee realizes the extent of the damage in CIC, with numerous crewmembers down or bleeding, and his father and Roslin nowhere to be seen. Without thinking about it, Lee races to the jump station and goes to enter the rendezvous coordinates.  
  
Before he can, though, something washes over his mind and Lee feels caught, suspended in this moment. His right hand is on the controls but his left feels the sharp jab of something through his uniform pocket. Inside, he finds two things.  
  
The first thing he notices is the bronze Aurora, her wingtips pressing into his palm. There’s no time to think about that, though, because the second thing is a piece of paper and even as he’s unfolding it he recognizes that scratchy, stubborn writing as Kara’s.  
  
The symbols unfold into numbers, Lee realizes, and he knows what he’s looking at. Scribbled beneath the coordinates is a short, sharp message: _Lee, you gotta jump. I’ll see you on the other side._  
  
~~~  
  
In an FTL jump, there’s an instant. It lasts only a fraction of the time it takes to blink, but in that instant she is caught between here and there, before and after. Kara has jumped countless times, but not this time. This time is different; this time is new. Now, in this moment, Kara breathes. She’s been here before.  
  
Her boots make soft _thumps_ against the plush carpeting and the rubber of her flightsuit creaks as she walks past the rows of empty seats.  
  
 _I’m sorry, Kara,_ he says when she reaches the stage, _for so many things. I’m sorry you had to see like this._  
  
“It’s okay,” she says. “It’s okay.” And it is. “I’m not afraid anymore.”  
  
The five pillars shine brightly behind him and this time she does not flinch away from the light or the knowledge that burns inside of her. She understands now that it is entirely possible to live an entire life in the space between one breath and the next. He takes her hand.  
  
 _You’re free now_ , he says, _to become who you really are._  
  
She smiles, breathes deeply, and lets go. She closes her eyes and she’s flying.  
  
It’s a long time before she lands.  
  
~~~  
  
Later, Lee will think he should have known.  
  
It’s a long time, too long, before he makes it to the hangar deck. First he has to get the damage report and send out scouts to figure out where the frak they are. He leaves Dee with the con and goes to find his father.  
  
The old man is by Laura’s bedside in sickbay. It takes some cajoling, but Lee finally convinces the Admiral to take a break from this vigil. He refuses to return to his quarters, but acquiesces when Lee suggests he check on his ship. His father takes a long, lingering look back at Laura’s sleeping form before turning to leave.  
  
Lee wonders, then, about Kara’s absence. Lee will wonder later why he did not panic, why he did not make a desperate run for the hangar deck. Instead, he walks, expecting her to pop up any minute and match him stride for stride. And with every step, she doesn’t.  
  
It’s a lot of steps to the hangar bay. Once there, however, Lee’s struck by a sense of déjà vu. He blinks and she’s there, running one hand through her sweat-slicked hair.  
  
Blinks again and sees only the empty berth where her Viper should be. Where her Viper has not been for a long, long time.  
  
 _Lee, you gotta jump. I’ll see you on the other side._  
  
He doesn’t remember how he gets there, but he’s in the head, bent over the toilet as his body quakes with the realization.  
  
He should have known.  
  
~~~  
  
Last time Starbuck went out in a Viper and didn’t come back, all of Galactica seemed to be holding their breath, waiting for…something. Last time, the crewmembers filled up every crack in the hangar bay as they launched an empty box into space. Last time, Lee carried her picture in his pocket for weeks before pinning it up on the memorial wall.  
  
But this time, her picture’s already there and all he’s got is Aurora and a scrap of paper.  
  
It’s odd, he thinks, that now that he spends every waking moment looking for her and coming up empty, now he is certain—as he never was before—that she was really there.  
  
~~~  
  
When they land on the planet, Lee only brings a few things with him. He surveys his quarters on the Galactica for a while before eventually packing only his clothes, his kit, and the recording of Daniel Thrace. He leaves the music player behind, though. They’ll run out of batteries soon enough.  
  
Besides, he remembers the song pretty damn well.  
  
Lee walks away from the aging ship, carrying his bag in one arm. He holds the recording in his free hand, not quite willing to tuck it away out of sight.  
  
In the temporary settlement they’ve set up, he finds his father outside a tent, talking to Saul and Ellen Tigh. Lee hangs back, knowing that they haven’t had any time since Tigh’s relevation, and not wanting to interrupt. He’s about to leave, find his own tent, when he realizes that Ellen is walking towards him.  
  
“Lee!” she calls, softly but surely.  
  
He waits and regards her, at once familiar but so at odds with the woman he remembered.  
  
“I just wanted to say thank you,” she says, coming to stand a few feet away. “I heard that you were the one who brought us through the battle and brought us to this planet. On behalf of myself and my people, thank you, Lee Adama.”  
  
He just nods because what else is there to say? Not long ago, he would have been disturbed to hear Ellen Tigh say “my people” and know just who she was referring to. But now he is standing on a planet that he found because he made a blind jump based on a song that his invisible girlfriend’s father taught her on the piano. Speaking of…  
  
“What have you got there?” Obviously searching for a safe conversational subject, Ellen reaches for the recording that he’s carrying in his hand. Some things haven’t changed: the XO’s wife is just as noisy as she ever was.  
  
When her fingers brush against the plastic cover, Lee unconsciously tightens his grip. She quickly drops her hand, but when he looks up her gaze is fixed on the recording.  
  
“Where did you get that?” she says, still staring.  
  
“It belonged to…a friend.”  
  
“May I see it?”  
  
Her voice is steady and insistent, and when she looks at him there is something in her eyes that tells him this _matters_. He acquiesces. She holds the object with gentle hands. Her eyes are sad as she tenderly traces the outline on the cover.  
  
“Do you know who this is?” she says.  
  
Lee shrugs, waits.  
  
Her words, when they come, are precise and even. She tells him the story of Daniel.  
  
“He was an artist,” she says. “He was my favorite.”  
  
Lee takes the music back from her and leaves. He ignores his father, ignores everything else until it’s just him and a wide blue sky. A wide blue sky and a whole frakload of questions.  
  
Maybe it makes sense, Lee thinks. Maybe this is how he got a second chance. He doesn’t dare believe, though, that it will be enough for a third. Even if they hadn’t destroyed the Resurrection Hub, Kara was unique; Lee’s certain of it.  
  
There’s one question he never asks himself. He doesn’t have to.  
  
 _Does it matter?_  
  
He knows the answer. He can only hope that she did too.  
  
~~~  
  
The planet is beautiful, Lee has to admit. Green grass and blue skies are not enough, however, to make him forget. To make him lose that constant ache of her absence.  
  
They’re calling the planet Earth; they have no reason not to. The rebel Cylons are calling it their home too. Most have separated into their own settlements, but a sizable number, including the Tighs, have joined with the humans. There have been a few problems, Lee knows, but for the most part people are tired. Too tired to fight.  
  
Cally Tyrol, on the other hand, is not one of those. Since the reveal of the Final Five Cylons, she and the Chief have barely been speaking. If it weren’t for Nicky, they likely wouldn’t be talking at all.  
  
Lee knows he should care for them, knows he’s considered both Cally and Galen to be his friends. But he just can’t muster the energy for much these days. His father and Laura Roslin are just about the only people he sees regularly. Laura has not recovered from her collapse during the final battle, and it seems as though the end, for her, is near. His father’s shoulders are perpetually bowed beneath the weight of this knowledge as he tries to nurse her back to health in their small tent, but the President seems content.  
  
“I’ve been dying for a very long time,” she tells Lee one day while his father is out. “I am simply grateful to have seen this world. So many souls did not get this chance.”  
  
Lee blinks, says nothing. Her hand grasps his in a surprisingly firm grip.  
  
“I think this would be a good place for an opera house,” she murmurs as she slips back into sleep.  
  
Lee sits by her side for a long time, is still sitting when his father returns and takes Laura’s other hand in his own.  
  
Sometimes when she’s lucid, Laura talks about the new government the Quorum must establish. At her prodding, Lee begins to work with them, but half-heartedly. It’s important, he knows, but something’s missing. And he knows what—or rather, who—that something is. After all, he’s been here before.  
  
 _The President says that we’re saving humanity for a bright, shiny future. On Earth. That you and I are never gonna see._  
  
“Half right, Kara,” Lee says and almost laughs. It’s not funny, but so little is.  
  
Another day, Lee walks far out, away from the clumps of people and tents. He walks over hills, wades across a shallow river, and finally comes to the point where he can see, just there on the horizon, the Galactica laid to rest. Some of their smaller spacecrafts remain with the settlements, where they can be used as shuttles for as long as they have fuel and pilots. The civilian ships have been put down where each shipload settled. There’s no need for them anymore. The aging battlestar, wounded beyond repair in the last battle, will not fly again.  
  
The ships will stay here, flightless, exposed to the seasons and the elements. And one day, Lee knows, grass will grow in their cracks and green will overtake the metal that was once their home.  
  
Lee sits here, on the highest hill in sight. He sits on this zenith under the afternoon sun and pulls the small statue from his pocket. The light plays over Aurora’s features, glances off her wings. His thumb rubs gently over her face, worn nearly smooth by this oft-repeated action in the weeks since the battle.  
  
Expelling a deep breath, Lee shifts to kneeling and begins to scoop a hole in the earth with his free hand. He places the statue in the cradle of this earth, but his hand stills involuntarily when he goes to smooth the dirt over her.  
  
He jerks back, gasping and gasping as though he were sobbing, but no tears come out. When he can breathe again, Lee stumbles back to the small hole and lifts Aurora from the ground. With swift fingers, he wipes the dirt from her figure. For a long moment, he just stands there, clutching the statue to his chest as he stares out at this new world.  
  
Then he puts her back in his pocket, turns, and walks away. It’s not time, he knows. Not today.  
  
~~~  
  
They’ve been on Earth for two months when the dawn breaks with the sound of a ship entering atmo. Lee steps out of his tent and sees the others doing the same on the distant hill. He looks into the sky and it’s like a lightning strike, a burst of light so bright it burns; for a single, solitary instant he thinks he sees blue and red and yellow.  
  
Then his vision clears and he smiles. This time, he knows. This time, she sets her Viper onto the grass and the forgiving earth, and when her feet touch the ground she’s in his arms. This time, he knows that everybody can see her.  
  
“You still flying my wing?” he presses the words into her hair.  
  
“Always,” she says, and it’s like the entire universe hangs in the breath between them.  
  
 _Fin_


End file.
